


Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire, Give Me That Which I Desire

by gigglesbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Lock, Bottoming from the Top, Fingering, Happy Ending, Jealous John, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary is a villain, Slow-ish burn, a little bit of angst, hence jealous john, its all worth it i promise, not friendly to mary, sad baby sherlock, sherlock in a relationship with an original character, the rating will very likely go up, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigglesbatch/pseuds/gigglesbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Series 3, not canon compliant. I didn't include Mary's pregnancy because, honestly, I didn't want to deal with it. John pretended to forgive Mary so he could keep her close since Mycroft and Sherlock think she will lead them to Moriarty. John is miserable, in love with Sherlock. Sherlock is miserable, in love with John. Those two idiots never just talk to each other. The usual :) This will probably go back and forth from John's and Sherlock's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John sighed as rubbed his palms against his eyes in frustration. It had been months since Moriarty “returned" and they weren't any closer to finding him now then they were then. His mind wandered back to the tarmac, Sherlock's broken face as he made a joke to try to cut the tension. John was hoping...well, he refused to let himself acknowledge what he was hoping. It was unattainable and not realistic. John understood the reasoning behind pretending to forgive Mary, but the pressure of having to continue to play the part of the happy husband was getting to him. He wanted to be back at Baker St, where he belonged (with Sherlock, he reminded himself).

"We need to keep Mary close by, John. Mycroft is convinced that she had been working with Moriarty the entire time I was gone, and still is working with him. You're our inside man, we need you." Sherlock had told him.

It made sense of course. John could track Mary's whereabouts most of the time (Mycroft and his minions were able to track her the rest of the time), and that freed up Sherlock to try to track down Moriarty. But living a lie was getting to John. It was the little things, the goodbye kisses, the hugs, the back and forth banter when they ate supper or watched television. Every time he put his arms around her, John saw Sherlock lying on Magnussen's floor, bleeding to death in front of him. He avoided sex as much as possible, but he couldn't avoid it completely.

"She will get suspicious John. You have to act as you normally would, and that includes...sexual activities." Mycroft had told him with a look of obvious disgust. Sherlock closed his eyes and left the room during that conversation.

He tried his best, closing his eyes and trying to think of someone else (fastidiously doing his best not to think of Sherlock), but most of the time John had to fake his orgasm. He would roll over and pretend to be sleeping until Mary fell asleep, and would then tip toe to the bathroom and scrub himself until his skin was red and burning.

It was wearing on him and his patience was at its end.

"Hey Mary, I'm going to go for a walk, be back soon." John called out as he got up from the sofa and walked toward the door.

"Ok John, love you!" Mary called from the living room.

John didn't respond as he walked out into the crisp spring air. He headed toward Baker St, hoping that Sherlock would have something, anything, to cheer him up. Some new piece of information that would give him hope that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. That soon he would be rid of Mary (that's not even her bloody name, he reminded himself angrily) and back where he belonged, by Sherlock's side.

John was optimistic about their relationship. Their friendship had been through hell and back, and yet was still strong. Sherlock was one of the very few people that John trusted implicitly, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Once he returned to Baker St for good, things could go back to normal. Solving cases together, running through the streets of London, getting takeout and watching movies for hours until they fell asleep together on the sofa.

"Just the two of us against the the rest of the world." John mumbled to himself with a smile as he started to climb the stairs to their (Sherlock's, he had to remind himself) flat. John pushed the door open and started to call out for Sherlock when he heard him shout. John cursed himself for not bringing his gun and slowly made his way around the corner. He heard Sherlock shout again, the noise was coming from the bedroom. John made his way down the hall, as quickly and as quietly as he could, heart racing. If Moriarty had returned and ambushed Sherlock in his own flat John would make damn sure that he didn't get out of it alive this time. John reached the bedroom door and had his hand on the doorknob when he heard another noise, a moan. The voice wasn't nearly as low as Sherlock's, but it was clearly a man.

"Oh god Sherlock, your mouth is criminal. You should be locked up." Realization dawned on John. Sherlock wasn't being attacked, he was...he was...John couldn't bring himself to think it. Sherlock wasn't interested in sex, his body was just transport, a fact which he had made perfectly clear to John.

"Ah, well Steven, if I were locked up, I wouldn't be able to do this..." Sherlock replied, before doing something that made Steven shout out a string of expletives.

John was frozen where he stood, with his hand still hovering above the doorknob.

"Fucking hell Sherlock. Come on now, flip over and show me that pretty ass. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be thinking about me for days." Steven said. There was some rustling and bed springs creaking, and then John heard Sherlock moan, loud, long, and deep.

John backed away then, unable to stand it any longer. As quietly as he could manage, he made his way out the door and down the stairs, not breathing again until he was outside Baker St. He swore that he could still hear the bed springs creaking and fought the urge to jam his fingers in his ears as he walked away as quickly as he could.

Sherlock had never shown any interest in anything or anyone the entire time John had known him. There was his fake relationship with Janine (which still made John jealous to this day, even knowing that it was fake), but that was it. John thought back to all the times he had flirted with Sherlock, had made his interest very obvious. Their very first dinner together, John had asked if he had a boyfriend, gave his best 'Three-Continents Watson' smile and licked his lips, practically begging Sherlock to take him to bed, and nothing. But now? Who was Steven and what on God's green earth did he have that John didn't? What made him so goddamn special that he got the parts of Sherlock that were off limits, that John so desperately wanted but knew he could never have? John blinked and realized that he had stopped walking. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring angrily at nothing, clenching his fists at his side, and people were starting to stare.

John turned and started walking home. No, not home, he thought, to Mary's house. John was by nature a very jealous man. Irene had realized that the first time she set eyes on him. The idea of another man touching Sherlock, putting his mouth on him and making him cry out in pleasure, it was enough to drive John mad. As he reached his doorstep, John took a deep breath. There's no point in being jealous, he told himself, of something that was never yours in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of angst, sorry!

Sherlock laid in bed, breathing heavily and feeling blissfully relaxed. He stared at the ceiling and tried hard to keep his brain offline. It was so easy during sex, his brain shut down and his body took over. Sherlock loved it, it was the only way he was able to get a break from himself. An arm made its way across his chest and he smiled. He liked Steven. He was handsome, didn't talk too much, fairly clever, and best of all was absolutely amazing in bed. He knew exactly what Sherlock needed and made sure to give it to him each time.  


Sherlock had been able to go years without needing sex. He was fairly active when he was at Uni, but then he discovered drugs and realized he could get the same high without the horrible tediousness of having to deal with other people. Once he got clean, The Work gave him the high that he needed and kept his brain from rotting. And then he met John. Sherlock had never been in love and he deleted any silly books or movies that he had been subjected to which may have given him a frame of reference, so he didn't realize that he was in love with John until during his absence. Those nights when he was alone, cold, hungry, in pain, and absolutely exhausted, his mid would wander to John. His brilliant smile, those hideous jumpers, his soft hair, and the way he always would say just the right thing to nudge Sherlock in the right direction. They were made for each other. So when he would think of John during those hopeless nights, it would warm him from the inside, and give him the strength he needed to forge ahead and finish what he had started, so he could get back to him sooner. He had planned to confess everything when he returned. To drop to his knees and tell John how much he loved him, that he was in love with him, and that he would do anything to be part of his life again.  


That plan changed of course when Sherlock surprised John in the middle of proposing to someone else. Sherlock thought he knew pain, he had been tortured in an impressive variety of ways for two years. But nothing he had encountered in his life had prepared him for the agony of watching John recite vows to Mary, watching them kiss, and dance...Sherlock cleared his throat and fought back the tears that were threatening to make an appearance.  


"Is everything ok baby?" Steven asked, his voice muffled by a pillow.  


"Yes, go back to sleep." Sherlock replied.  


He really did like Steven, he told himself again for the hundredth time. He hadn't been looking for a partner when they met. Sherlock had convinced himself that if he couldn't have John he would prefer to just be alone. He stuck to that until he was watching security footage of John and Mary's home with Mycroft. They were waiting for John to leave for work to see what Mary would do on her day off. John announced he was heading out, and then walked over and kissed Mary. It wasn't just a peck on the lips, which Sherlock would have been able to ignore as it was necessary to fool Mary. No, Mary had wrapped her arm around John's back and pulled him in. They kissed for a few minutes before John pulled back, laughing, and said he couldn't be late. Mary smiled at him as he left. Sherlock isn't sure what happened after that because he stormed out of his flat, leaving Mycroft behind. Mycroft, Sherlock was loathe to admit, wasn't a complete idiot and knew exactly why Sherlock stormed out, and let him go without a word.  


Sherlock walked for hours, not heading anywhere in particular, just trying to clear his head. He knew of course that John had to kiss Mary. They were married and married couples kiss. John didn't love Mary anymore, he told Sherlock that several times. But the fact remained that John loved her at one point, and as soon as she was out of the picture John would move on and find a girlfriend. Of course he would find one, likely very quickly too. A handsome, charming doctor with clever hands and soft kissable lips wouldn't have trouble finding anyone. Sherlock knew that he was a fool for not saying something to John sooner, for not putting his feelings on the table. But he was certain that John could ever feel the same way about him, and besides he said "I'm not gay." constantly, to anyone who would listen. It was a lost cause.  


He had entered a bar, Sherlock didn't notice the name, just that it was warm and not very crowded. That's where he met Steven. They talked for ages, until the bar closed, and Sherlock took him home. Luckily Mycroft had left by then, and Sherlock and Steven had sex several times, in almost every room of the flat. It felt amazing, and he was successfully able to forget John for the entire night. So they started dating. Well, Steven called it dating. They went out to dinner once or twice, but mostly it was just sex. Sherlock was insatiable and Steven was more than happy to oblige. It worked out for both of them. Steven got companionship and frequent orgasms, and Sherlock had an outlet to help him forget that the love of his life would never be his.  


\---  


Sherlock awoke the next morning and rolled over, reaching blindly for Steven. He loved morning sex, so he was disappointed to find that Steven had already woken up and left the bedroom. Sherlock reluctantly got dressed, which meant putting on pants and his dressing gown, and walked out of the bedroom.  


"Steven, where did you go? You know how much I love sucking your cock in the morning. I'm very disappointed in you." Sherlock called out. When he didn't get a response, he walked into the living room to find John, Steven, and Mary all sitting there with various looks of shock on their faces.  


"Sorry Sherlock love, I would have woken you, but Mary here said it would be best to let you sleep. She and John came by to invite you to dinner tonight. Well, to invite us now that they know about me. Why didn't you tell your best friends about me?" Steven asked, managing to look surprised, hurt, and playful at the same time. Sherlock couldn't help the surge of affection he felt for the man, and walked over to him, ignoring the glare he was receiving from John.  


"I'm sorry Steven, I planned to." Sherlock replied, taking Steven's hands in his and kissing both of them softly.  


"Oh! What a cute couple! Aren't they adorable, John? You must come to dinner tonight Sherlock, will you?" Mary asked.  


Sherlock looked over for the first time and saw that John was sitting next to Mary with his hand resting on her leg. He wasn't looking at Sherlock though, instead choosing to study an apparently very engrossing piece of lint on his trousers.  


"I'd love to Mary. What time shall we come over?"


	3. Chapter 3

John slammed the plate down, cursing under his breath as the silverware rattled.

"John, are you still grumpy? Sherlock and Steven will be here any minute so I need you to remove whatever stick you have up your ass and be friendly." Mary called sweetly from the kitchen.

John resisted the urge to tell her exactly what was up his ass and instead continued to set the rest of the table. He was furious that Mary invited them to dinner. It was bad enough that he knew about Sherlock's...what? Partner? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Whatever he was, it was torture for John just to know about him. He couldn't imagine how awful dinner would be, having to look across the table and make conversation with the man who got to take Sherlock to bed every night. John thought back to that day when he almost walked in on them. Those fucking bed springs have haunted him. The one time that Mary tried to have sex with him since that day, John almost broke down as soon as their bed started creaking beneath them. He rolled over and fought hard against the tears that were threatening to spill over.

"Oh John, it's ok, it happens to lots of men your age. Don't worry about it dear." Mary had said, trying to soothe him. John didn't correct her, hoping that maybe he could use that as an excuse to never have sex with her again, though he doubted he could be that lucky.

Earlier that week when Mary decided it would be fun to surprise Sherlock and invite him to dinner John had tried desperately to think of an excuse to stay home. In the end, he couldn't come up with anything decent so he went along. He remembered Steven answering the door, like he bloody owned the place. He was tall, though not as tall as Sherlock, short brown hair, and brown eyes. John would have found him attractive if he didn't hate him so much. Steven was kind and welcoming, and he and Mary chatted animatedly while they waited for Sherlock to wake. John grimaced when he remembered what Sherlock said when he came out of his room, before he knew that they were in the sitting room. It had taken every ounce of self control that John possessed not to run out of the room. Instead, he unconsciously put his hand on Mary's leg and focused instead on the pattern of his trousers, and did everything he could to tune out the conversation.

The doorbell rang and John almost dropped the wine glass he was holding. Get it together, Watson, he told himself angrily. Mary answered the door and sounds of greetings, how are you, oh your house is so lovely, filled the air. John felt like he would be sick. He walked over and opened the window, stuck his head out and gulped desperately at the fresh air. It wouldn't do to act like a jealous ex at dinner, he told himself as he took deep, calming breaths.

"Good evening John." Sherlock said from behind him. John pulled his head back inside and turned around and cursed whatever gods were watching over them. Sherlock had worn his deep purple shirt, the one that made John hard in the middle of crime scenes. The one that stretched across his chest so tight that the poor buttons had to hold on for dear life. He took a deep breath.

"Hello Sherlock. How have you been?" John replied shakily.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and looked at John intensely. "I've been very well, thank you. Please, I'd like to introduce you, properly, to my boyfriend. John, this is Steven." Sherlock put his arm around Steven and smiled.

Boyfriend.

So it wasn't just sex, Sherlock was actually dating someone else. John tried to find his voice to respond, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. He clenched his hands into fists at his side, willing his face to not turn red. Please, he thought, don't make a scene, just get through this dinner and then you can break down in private.

"Hello Steven, it's nice to meet you. Officially." John said, with the best smile he could muster.

\---

Dinner was as much of a disaster as John had expected. He and Mary had a small dining table, so they were all crowded closely together. Sherlock's knee bumped into John's several times.

"I'm sorry John, it's the curse of having long legs." Sherlock apologized with a tight smile.

"I don't mind them." Steven whispered to Sherlock with a wink.

Oh God if they start flirting I won't survive, John thought helplessly. Luckily, Mary asked how they met and Steven launched into a long story about some bar and Sherlock coming in soaking wet and looking miserable. John tuned him out and instead focused on pushing his food around on his plate so it would look like he had eaten. He glanced over at Sherlock and saw that he was doing the same. John looked closely at Sherlock's face for the first time that night and noticed that he had bags under his eyes. Not sleeping much then, and he looked as miserable as John felt. John looked back down at his plate and wondered what Sherlock had to feel miserable about. He had a boyfriend who clearly was head over heals for him, he had a case that kept him busy, he had everything. And what did John have? He had a fake marriage with a woman who tried to kill his best friend, and a job that he tolerated. He wasn't even able to be part of the case because they didn't want to make Mary suspicious. So Sherlock got to do all of the work himself while John was stuck at home. With Mary.

Oh.

Steven said that Sherlock looked wet and miserable when they met. He had been walking in the rain then, probably thinking over something. John knew from their time together that Sherlock only took walks when he was truly troubled, when not even his mind palace could help him. He had a boyfriend now, something very much out of character for him. And he looked miserable, even with the excitement of trying to catch Moriarty, which should make him as happy as a kid on Christmas.

Was Sherlock lonely?

John looked up from his plate and met Sherlock's eyes. As always, he knew exactly what John was thinking. Sherlock nodded infinitesimally. Yes John, of course I'm lonely. I miss you, he was saying.

John stopped breathing. But why would Sherlock need to get a boyfriend if he missed me? he thought. Wouldn't he just find a new partner?

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave John his most exasperated look.

Oh.

_OH._

John remembered that the first thing he did when he finally accepted that Sherlock was 'dead', when he was finally able to move on, was go out and get a girlfriend. At the time, he had come to terms with the fact that he would never be with Sherlock, so he found someone else to help with the loneliness. Is that what Sherlock had done with Steven?

How could I have been so blind? John thought.

He remembered back to all the times Sherlock had saved him. His desperate shouts as he pulled John from the fiery rubble of the bonfire. The way he rushed over to remove the bomb strapped to John's chest, his fingers had shaken so badly he could barely remove it. The look in Sherlock's eyes during John and Mary's wedding, like something inside him had shut down, had died. We never were just friends, were we? he realized.

John smiled, small at first and then it took over his entire face. All these years, why didn't Sherlock say something?

"Why didn't _you_ say something?" Sherlock said out loud.

Mary and Steven were engrossed in their conversation, something about a cake recipe, and they didn't notice that Sherlock had spoken for the first time since they sat down.

"Sherlock...oh my God, I tried to. I...well I guess I didn't try to...but. I don't know, the timing was shit. Oh God Sherlock, I'm sorry." John whispered, trying to keep the others ignorant to what was happening in front of them.

"John, I think that this is a conversation we should have another time, in private. Perhaps tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh! What's going on tomorrow?" Mary asked, her conversation with Steven had the worst timed silence and she caught the end of what Sherlock's reply. 

"Mycroft has a case for us, he'll need us both I'm afraid. Likely for a few days." Sherlock replied, unflappable as ever. John tried to hide his smile. A few days away from Mary and alone with Sherlock was exactly what he needed.

Steven cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um, Sherlock, dear, I thought you said we were going to spend tomorrow together?” He asked sweetly, and then looked at John with thinly veiled suspicion.

John realized that Steven was smarter than he gave him credit for, and hoped above hope that he wouldn't say anything too incriminating in front of Mary. The last thing they needed was to anger her and get John kicked out. Or worse.

“Yes, I'm sorry to delay our plans, but I got a text from Mycroft and he is insisting. You know how he can be.” Sherlock replied. He stretched his hand across the small table and placed it on top of Steven's. John bit back a surge of jealousy. Sherlock is not yours, he reminded himself. Not yet anyway.

Steven pulled his hand out from under Sherlock's. He gently placed his napkin on his plate and pulled back from the table.

“I think Sherlock and I should leave now. Mary, thank you for a lovely dinner.” He said as he got up.

John looked over at Sherlock, about to say goodbye, but was shocked into silence at the look on his face. Sherlock looked scared. No, utterly terrified. He was looking straight ahead at Mary. John turned his head and looked at Mary as well. She was smiling. Not her usual, sweet housewife smile, but a sinister one that turned his blood to ice.

“Sherlock, I'll walk you and Steven to the door.” John said, not taking his eyes off Mary.

“That's really not...” Steven started.

“Thank you John. Mary, thank you for dinner. I'm sure we will be seeing each other soon.” Sherlock said as he rose from the table.

“Very soon, I'm sure.” Mary said in a cold, detached voice.

As soon as they rounded the corner out of the kitchen, Sherlock grabbed John's arm.

“I really don't want to leave you alone here, but I don't have a choice. Mary clearly thinks something is going on between us.” Steven snorted as Sherlock continued, “There obviously isn't, so I need you to stay here and convince her of that. You know how important that is. Please John...be careful.” Sherlock whispered desperately, his face inches from John's. John nodded and stepped back. The close proximity to Sherlock was doing things to his head. He could smell the delicious red wine on Sherlock's breath, smell his ridiculously expensive shampoo that makes his hair so amazingly soft, and he could feel waves of body heat radiating off of him. John took a deep breath to steady himself.

“I will Sherlock, and I'll text you after I speak with Mary. Thank you for coming tonight. Both of you.” John said. Steven refused to meet his eyes and was already halfway out the door.

“I'll see you soon.” Sherlock said before he stepped out and chased after Steven.

John closed the door and leaned against it. It had been an incredibly long day and he was completely exhausted. However, he felt more energized than he had in a long time. It was obvious now that he and Sherlock had been complete and utter morons when it came to their relationship since the day they met. John wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen next between them, but he had a good idea. He smiled again, giddy with the knowledge that this time tomorrow he would be back at Baker St where he belonged. Not for good, not yet, but now that he knew how Sherlock felt...John shivered as he thought about the possibilities. He considered himself to be an honest and good man, but John had no qualms about cheating on Mary. She ended their marriage with a bullet long ago.

“Sweetheart, could you come in here?” Mary called from the kitchen.

Roused out of his daydream, John pushed himself away from the door and headed back to the kitchen. Mary was standing with her back to him, her hands not visible.

“Well dinner was interesting. Thanks for cooking, I'll clean up if you'd like.” John offered, ever the dutiful husband.

Mary turned around, her hands still hidden, and walked toward John.

“That won't be necessary dear.” She purred, still wearing that calm, unsettling smile.

Before John could respond, Mary swung her arm around, with something large and silver in her hand. She hit John on the right side of his head and his vision immediately started to fade. John saw black spots swimming in front of him and he struggled in vain to stay on his feet. As he fell to the ground he heard Mary laugh.

“Well, this might finally kill Sherlock.” She sang out.

John tried to respond, but couldn't speak. He felt searing pain on his temple and then the spots in front of him finally won out and his vision turned to black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to leave this is a cliffhanger but I promise I will post the next chapter in a day or two. I'm going to Sherlock Seattle today so that's keeping me a little busy ;) I hope you enjoy this!

“It's ok Sherlock, really.” Steven said. He sat on the sofa with his hands in his lap, watching Sherlock pace back and forth in front of him. “It's not like I thought we were getting married or anything. I care about you, a lot, but it's clear to anyone with a pulse how you feel about John Watson. I know I can't compete with him.”

Sherlock stopped pacing and rushed over to Steven, his coat that he had yet to take off fluttering behind him.

“It's not a competition Steven, it never was.” Sherlock whispered as he took Steven's hands in his. “I care for you too and it's for that reason that we have to end this. I...I'm in love with John. I have been since the day we met. It's taken me a long time to realize it, but now that I have...I can't...It was wrong of me to get involved with you. Forgive me.” Sherlock felt terrible for hurting Steven. Sentiment, Mycroft's voice chirped in his head.

“Please Sherlock, there's no need to apologize. Take care of yourself.” Steven replied as he stood up and headed for the door.

Sherlock hesitated, trapped inside his head, trying to fight his way through the feelings that were warring inside him. This is why he didn't get involved with people. The guilt and pain of ending relationships ate away at him. It was so much easier to keep to himself, to free himself from the unnecessary sentiment and emotions that came with a relationship. That was before John of course. John changed everything for Sherlock, showed him how brilliant love could be. But he was a fool to try to find it somewhere else. It was clear that it wasn't just love that Sherlock needed. It was John, always John.

Sherlock turned around to respond to Steven, but the door was closed and the flat had become dark. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there but it had likely been at least a few hours, given the change in light and drop in temperature. Sherlock checked his phone and saw that John had not texted yet.

Relax, he told himself, John was probably still trying to smooth things over with Mary. He would probably text in the morning.

What to do about Mary was Sherlock's biggest concern. She was very observant and clearly saw the exchange between him and John. She probably knew that Sherlock was in love with him (Sherlock rolled his eyes as he realized that _everyone_ likely knew, save himself and John), and he was terrified of her reaction. The cold, dead look in her eyes across the dinner table was the same one she gave Sherlock right before she shot him.

Frustrated with the idea of having to sit around and wait all night to hear from John, Sherlock decided to do something desperate. He walked over to his phone, planning to call Mycroft and ask for help. Mycroft had surveillance on John and Mary's home, and he had it bugged as well. If there was anything to worry about, he would know. Sherlock sighed and was about to pick up his phone when it beeped. He looked down and saw that he had received a text from John.

_Meet me at Chisendale Works. Come alone. - M_

His phone dinged again and the next text was a dark picture, taken in poor lighting. It was tough to make out many details, but Sherlock had no trouble making out his best friend sitting in the middle of the floor. John was tied up with some kind of rope, wrapped several times around his wrists and ankles. His eyes were closed and he was slumped forward. Sherlock looked closer and saw that John's head was bleeding and that he had scratches up and down his arms.

Sherlock's heart fell to the floor. He knew that leaving John alone was a mistake, but at the time he couldn't think of an alternative.

STUPID STUPID STUPID! Sherlock berated himself as he started at John, helpless and alone. There will be plenty of time to beat yourself up later Sherlock, Mycroft's voice rang out in his head, what are you going to do now to save John?

Sherlock dialed Mycroft's number as he ran down the stairs of his flat. A taxi pulled up and Sherlock gave the cabbie the address that Moriarty texted him, and then cursed when Mycroft's phone went to voicemail. That very rarely happened, so he must have been incredibly busy. Sherlock left a message as calmly as he could manage and then called Lestrade, but his phone also went to voicemail. Sherlock cursed out loud into Lestrade's voicemail box and left a message requesting maximum backup immediately. He gave the address and turned off his phone and shoved it deep in his coat pocket. It wouldn't do to have either of them call back when he was talking to Moriarty and have him realize that Sherlock had called for backup.

The cab wound its way through London, the neighborhoods getting progressively worse as they moved forward. After what felt like ages, they reached their destination. Chisendale Works was an old warehouse, clearly abandoned years ago. Most of the windows were shattered or completely missing and the fence surrounding the property was rusted in some places and lying on the ground in others. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Honestly, he had expected better of Moriarty. An old warehouse in the middle of nowhere was a bit cliche. Sherlock paid the cabbie and walked inside. The door opened with a loud creak that echoed throughout the empty space.

“Ah, nice of you to join us Sherlock. Please, come on in.” Mary's voice sang out sweetly and stopped Sherlock in his tracks. She was sitting in an old metal chair next to John, who had woken up since that picture was taken. She had a gun in her hand, but it was pointed toward the ground. “John and I were just taking a stroll down memory lane. We've had such a wonderful time together, he's has been a fantastic husband. Kind, romantic, devastating in bed. All I could ask for, really. It's such a shame that it has to end so soon.” Mary lifted the gun and pressed it against John's temple.

“Wh-where is Moriarty?” Sherlock asked, uncharacteristically shocked by the turn in events.

“Oh Sherlock, sweetie. The great Sherlock Holmes, clever detective and all that bullshit. Nothing gets past you, right? But I did, didn't I? Twice now, in fact.” Mary asked, not taking her eyes off John, who in turn had not taken his eyes off Sherlock.

“You did Mary. If I didn't despise you so much we would be great friends. The feeling is mutual, I'm sure. You fooled all of us, even Mycroft who ran numerous background searches on you after John proposed. You are very impressive. I thought, though, that you were leaving this all behind after Magnussen died.” Sherlock responded. He spared a glance at John, who widened his eyes in warning just before Mary pistol whipped him across the cheek.

“Don't play stupid with me Sherlock!” She shouted as she leaped up from her chair. Both the metal chair and John fell to the floor, John's eyes falling closed again.

Sherlock started forward, his hand reaching out.

“Don't take another step. John is fine, he had a bump on the head earlier so he's a little sensitive. I've done that a couple times now and he comes to after a few minutes. This isn't about him though. This is about you and me. Don't act stupid, and don't treat me like I'm stupid. You know who I am, it doesn't work. I know all about your 'secret' bugs around the house, I know that you and Mycroft have been watching me non stop. I know that John only forgave me so that he could stay close and keep an eye on me. Really, I'm disappointed in you Sherlock. Trying to see if I could lead you to Moriarty?” Mary threw her head back a laughed. “He's DEAD!” she shouted.

“Mary...” Sherlock began.

“No, shut up and let me finish. Moriarty is dead. Because of you. He never came back, do you really think someone can come back from a gunshot to the head? Honestly Sherlock. I made that video, I arraigned for it to air in order to keep you here. Do you know why?” Mary asked. She took several steps forward and was now only a few feet away from Sherlock. She raised the gun and pointed it at his head.

“Why?” Sherlock asked. His heart was racing, blood pumping through his veins as though he had run a marathon. His brain however was moving frustratingly slow. He listened to Mary and was searching the warehouse out of his peripheral vision to find possible exits, but he was struggling to focus on anything other than John, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He was still breathing, Sherlock noted with relief.

“Because I promised him, before he went on the rooftop, that if he didn't come down alive I would make sure that neither of you lived. I was so tempted to shoot John when he ran over to you after you jumped. I wanted to so badly. But I didn't know then of course. I didn't know that Moriarty had shot himself. So I let John walk away, and I've regretted it every day since.” Mary inched closer, her gun still pointed at Sherlock's head.

“Why didn't you kill him after you found out that Moriarty was dead?” Sherlock asked. He needed to keep Mary talking in the hopes that Mycroft or Lestrade got his message and was on the way.

Mary laughed again.

“I knew you were alive. We have people who infiltrated your dear brother's office and they have been feeding me information for the last few years. I knew that you would come back for John, your little pet. And once you came back, well, this.” Mary said with a flourish, throwing her hands up and spinning around. “I'm not as theatrical as Moriarty, but this is good enough for me. I planned to bring you both here and kill you. John first of course, burn the heart out of you and all that. Magnussen got in the way, blew my cover a bit there. But I recovered nicely if I do say so myself.”

Mary turned back around and faced Sherlock. She pointed the gun at him again and stepped forward.

“Now, enough stalling. Get on the floor next to John. Go on, there's a good boy.” She said, nudging Sherlock forward with the gun.

Sherlock walked forward and sat on the floor next to John. He took John's face in his hands and was about to feel his neck for a pulse when he felt a sharp hit on the side of his head. John's face fell out of his hands and Sherlock fell back. The last thing he saw was Mary's smiling face staring down at him.

\---

When Sherlock came to, he found that he was unable to move his arms or legs. He struggled and grunted in frustration that his body would not cooperate with him.

“Sherlock, don't struggle, you'll make the knots tighter.” John whispered.

Sherlock's head whipped around, painful though it was with his head wound. But John was speaking! He realized that they were tied together, back to back. Their wrists and ankles were bound in rope, with an interesting knot that Sherlock had not seen before. Focus, he reprimanded himself.

“Well, now that you're both conscious, we can have some fun!” Mary called out.

Sherlock looked around, but could not locate her. He could, however, detect the distinct odor of gasoline.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you both, but I couldn't do something so boring as shoot you. That's much too simple, and really it's more poetic that you die together. Forgive me for not staying, as much as I'd like to watch you both burn, I'll need to get out of here before the backup that Sherlock called arrives. Goodbye John, goodbye Sherlock.” Mary called out.

A bottle smashed somewhere in the distance and Sherlock heard the unmistakeable sound of something igniting in flames.

“Sherlock! She set the bloody building on fire!” John shouted.

The fire started slowly, Mary had spread the gas along the edges of the building and on the walls. To block the exits, Sherlock realized. He struggled against the ropes again, but they only got tighter.

“John! John, are you familiar with this knot? Do you know how to untie it?” Sherlock coughed out. Smoke was quickly filling the room, so heavy he could barely see.

“No, I haven't. Was she right, do we have backup? Is anyone out there? Is anyone coming?” John shouted.

“I don't know. I tried to reach Mycroft and Lestrade, but I couldn't get through to either of them. We're alone.” Sherlock responded. The flames had slowly started to creep in, getting close enough that Sherlock began to feel uncomfortably warm. His bigger concern though was the smoke, which was threatening to suffocate them both.

“It's not...I don't think we're going to...” John coughed and started wheezing. “If we don't make it, you need to know something. Sherlock I love you. I am in love with you. It's always been you, since the day we met. I can't believe I'm just saying it now but I need you to know. Sherlock can you hear me?” John nudged Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then started to cough. He was unable to stop, even as blood started to come out of his mouth.

“John,” he rasped “I love you, more than my own...you are everything...I'm so sorry...” Sherlock coughed again and then was silent.

“Sherlock! Sherlock please, say something!!” John nudged his shoulder again without a response. John's resolve broke and he sobbed, the tears he had been holding back since Sherlock walked in the warehouse poured out in waves.

The smoke had completely filled the room and John wasn't able to see his own legs in front of him. He realized that there was no cavalry coming for them and felt oddly at peace. Just the two of us against the rest of the world, he thought. At least we're going out together. He leaned back against Sherlock and took one last breath.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Oh, and I'm on tumblr if you want to visit me in Johnlock hell, @gigglesbatch :)


	5. Chapter 5

Tiny pinpricks of light fought their way through the smoke. Voices, sounding as though they were underwater, rang out. John felt strong arms underneath him and then he floated, into the air and away from the flames. Must be on my way to heaven, he thought. Well, could have done worse, John chuckled to himself.

“Sir, I think he may still be alive!” The angel with the strong arms said.

“Oh thank Christ! Get him to the ambulance, quick! What about Sherlock?” A familiar voice called out.

Wait, this couldn't be heaven, John thought. It felt too panicked, too much like a war zone. That voice was so familiar, but John couldn't place it, his mind was still fuzzy from something, he couldn't remember what.

“John, can you hear me? John it's Greg. Can you hear me?”

Fingers pulled at John's eyelids and light rushed in, shocking his system. The night came rushing back to him as he took in the frantic scene. Firefighters rushing in, paramedics swarming him, and Lestrade looking down at him with concern, fear, and relief all clear on his face.

“Sher...” John tried to say, but his throat was on fire and only a raspy whisper came out. Lestrade looked up and then started to move away, but John reached out and grabbed his coat. Lestrade turned around and looked at him, but refused to meet his eyes. John pulled him closer. Come on Greg, you know what I'm asking. Please.

“We got him out of the building, after you. But...he wasn't breathing. He's on his way to the hospital. That's all I know.” Lestrade answered. He gently detangled John's fingers from his coat and walked away. The paramedic who carried John out of the building gave him a sympathetic look as he lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance. John closed his eyes and drifted away.

\---

For the next two days, John drifted in and out of consciousness. Visitors streamed in and out, Lestrade stayed overnight a few times. No one tried to talk to him. A hug from Mrs. Hudson, a kiss on the cheek from Molly, a pat on the arm from Lestrade. John felt nothing. He resisted waking up for as long as he could manage, not ready to face what was waiting for him. On the third day though he couldn't fight it any longer. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to the right to find Lestrade asleep on the chair next to the bed, his legs stretched in front of him and his head lolling to the side.

“Greg,” John whispered. His throat felt a bit better, much more like having strep and less like his esophagus was on fire. “Hey, Greg wake up. That can't be comfortable.”

Lestrade woke with a start and practically lept out of the chair. He rushed over to the hospital bed and smiled down at John.

“Oh my god I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice. We thought we lost you, I couldn't...” Lestrade hesitated and looked away. When he looked back, his eyes were filled with tears. “I would never be able to forgive myself. I am so happy that you're awake. How are you feeling?” While his concern was touching, John couldn't shake the feeling that Lestrade was clearly trying to distract him.

“I feel like shit Greg, to be honest. How is Sherlock, where is he?” John asked. He tried to push himself up so he could look around properly but Lestrade hands met his shoulders quickly and pushed him back down.

“I better get the nurse, they'll want to check on you before you move.” Lestrade said as he rushed out of the room. John looked around the room. It was small, one bed, and brown recliner, and a desk chair next to the recliner. It was odd, the desk chair. John recognized it as one from a nurse's station and wondered why it would have been moved into his room. He tried to sit up again as the nurse walked in.

“Oh no you don't. Lie back down and let me have a look at you.” She tutted as she fussed with his tubes and charts.

“Nurse, why are there two chairs in here? Who has been here?” John asked.

“Oh, well there was that handsome police fellow who has been here almost constantly, and a tall, pompous man. Very unpleasant, he was. Had an air about him, what's the word I'm looking for? Self-importance. He's been coming and going all hours, day and night.” The nurse replied, clearly not happy with the arraignment.

Ah, thought John. So Mycroft had been here as well. The nurse finished and declared that John had healed surprisingly well and would be able to leave in a day or two. She left the room quietly and John was left to wonder what happened to Sherlock. Lestrade had practically ran out of the room when John asked about him. To hell with this, John thought. He climbed out of bed, cursing himself when he wobbled a bit as his feet touched the floor. He held onto the bed and took a few steps until he was steady again and looked around. None of his clothes were there, not even the ones from that night, they likely smelled so strongly of smoke that they had to be disposed of. John was wearing a hospital gown that was uncomfortably thin, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Modestly be damned, John marched out of his room and up to the Nurse's station.

“Hello, hi. I'm John Watson, looking for Sherlock Holmes. Can you tell me what room he's in?” John asked. The nurses looked around nervously at each other and no one responded. John considered himself a fairly optimistic man, but at that moment he started to truly worry. “Ok, if you can't tell me what room he's in, can you at least tell me if he's here?” John pleaded. She must have seen something in his eyes because one of the younger nurses from the back spoke up.

“He's here, but he's...”

“John, come with me.” came a voice behind him.

John turned around and looked up at Mycroft, leaning on his umbrella and looking, damn him, actually bored. Mycroft turned around and walked back into John's room. John followed and shut the door behind him as carefully as he could. It wouldn't do to lose his temper with Mycroft, not if he wanted information.

“Please sit down.” Mycroft started, as if they were about to have tea and discuss the weather. John took a seat in the brown recliner and noticed that Mycroft remained standing. He looked uncomfortable. “I'm sorry if you feel as though you been kept out of the loop. Please rest assured that we were only keeping you in the dark so that you could focus on healing. You certainly look better, how do you feel?” He asked.

John looked at Mycroft's face, really looked at it. He had bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot, and he looked to have aged at least ten years since the last time they saw each other. John felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

“Mycroft, please, where is Sherlock? Tell me he is ok, please.” John begged weakly. He felt a sob work its way out and quickly shut his mouth.

“Sherlock is alive.” Mycroft responded.

John actually sighed out loud and felt himself warm up immediately. He leaned back in the chair and put his hands over his face, a smile threatening to break out. “But there's something you need to know. He inhaled a lot of smoke, so much that the doctors were shocked that he survived at all. No burns, luckily. Neither of you were burned at all. It appears that Mary wanted to suffocate you rather than burn you alive.” Mycroft paused and took a breath. His face had started to turn red and his hands were shaking. “Apologizes, I'm getting sidetracked. John, Sherlock is in a coma. We don't know when, or if, he will wake up.” Mycroft had the decency to look away, toward the window, to allow the news to settle.

John's hands slowly slipped from his face and he stared ahead. There were a million questions burning inside him that needed to be asked, a million things he needed to say. But only one made its way out.

“Take me to his room, now.”

\---

It had been three days since John woke up, six since the fire. He spent every minute next to Sherlock's bed. Turned out that their rooms were next to each other, courtesy of Mycroft. John never failed to be impressed with how far his reach extended, though he would have preferred if they could share a room. He didn't mind sleeping in the brown recliner next to Sherlock's bed, but having his own bed in there would have been much more comfortable. Lestrade and Mycroft came by a few times a day, made small talk, generally looked very uncomfortable, and then left. John couldn't shake the feeling that they both felt guilty about something, but he wasn't able to figure out what it was. He desperately wanted Sherlock to wake up, take one look at both of them, and deduce immediately what was going on. As far as John knew though, Lestrade saved them, and Mycroft made the time in the hospital bearable (the nurses didn't even fuss at him for being in the wrong room), so they had nothing to feel guilty about. 

The hours passed achingly slowly. One of the nurses, the young one who tried to help John, brought him the paper every morning (Sherlock would have pointed out that she had a crush on John, had he been awake) and John read it cover to cover out loud. He was a firm believer that patients in a coma could hear what was happening around them, and he was also a firm believer that Sherlock must have been going out of his mind with boredom. So he read every article, the comics, the sports, the editorials, everything. And then, when they were done reading the paper, John would tell Sherlock stories. He told him about his time in the army, stories that he never told anyone else. The dark times that still woke him up in a cold sweat. The happier times that made him laugh out loud and miss his old friends. At night, John whispered things that he couldn't even admit to himself. He told Sherlock how much he loved him, from the moment they met he was ruined for anyone else. How he tried to distract himself, convinced that Sherlock didn't have relationships, that they weren't his area.

He told Sherlock how much he missed him while he was gone, and how he wouldn't be able to survive losing him again. He cried as he held Sherlock's hand and begged him for one more miracle. “I know,” he choked out “that I've already asked you that once before. But it worked then. Please love, please let it work again.”

On the morning of the forth day, John was in that foggy space between sleep and being awake when he heard a familiar deep voice arguing with one of the nurses.

“Mr. Holmes, there is absolutely no way that I am allowing you to access another patients records. They are strictly confidential. Stop asking.” The nurse said sternly.

“But I'm bored!” Sherlock exclaimed, managing to stretch the last word into several syllables.

John's eyes flew open and he jumped out of the chair.

“Sherlock! Oh my god Sherlock you're awake!” He cried as he ran over to the hospital bed. Sherlock smiled, a rare genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and John's heart stutter. John smiled back, his first real smile in weeks, and threw his arms around Sherlock.

“Oof!” Sherlock grunted, surprised. He squeezed John back and then pulled at him, pulled and tugged until John was lifted off the ground and onto the hospital bed. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, one hand sneaking up to rest on the back of his head. He tilted John's head gently to the side and leaned down, his mouth resting against his ear, and whispered, “I heard you, you know. Everything. I love you John Watson.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but writing smut was harder than I expected. Hope it's worth the wait ;) As promised, the rating has gone up fyi. Enjoy!!

After what felt like ages, Sherlock and John were finally discharged from the hospital and allowed to go back to Baker St. John had been discharged days before Sherlock, but refused to leave his room. They walked out of the hospital together, and when they reached the sidewalk they looked at each other and laughed, giddy with the knowledge that they were finally able to leave the hospital and go back home. Together.

“I'm glad to see you both still act like children. Get in the car.” Mycroft called from the curb. He was in a large town car, much bigger than his usual vehicle. Sherlock rolled his eyes and John smiled as they walked over and climbed in. Sherlock was momentarily surprised to see Lestrade sitting next to Mycroft. His surprise lasted only a few seconds and then realization dawned.

“Mycroft, I've been stuck in a hospital bed for ages, can I have this one?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft nodded. Sherlock looked at Lestrade, who had gone white, and then at John, who looked adorably confused. “The night of the fire, I called both of you and got both of your voicemails, which is very unusual. I left a message with both of you, but Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard didn't find us until we were both unconscious. It must have been at least an hour, no, an hour and a half, after I left the message. You both visited John and myself much more frequently than you would have otherwise, and you both slept in my room on two nights. So, when did it start?”

“What? When did what start?”John asked, still confused.

“A few weeks ago. We were on a date that night. Oh god Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I usually keep my phone on but we agreed that we would have one night without interruption. I happened to turn mine on when Mycroft left the room for a few minutes and that's when I saw your call. I am so sorry, to both of you. If we had gotten there sooner...” Lestrade put his head in his hands as he trailed off. Mycroft put his hand on Lestrade's knee in an uncharacteristically caring gesture.

Sherlock smiled. It felt great to do this again, although he was technically cheating. Yes, he could have very easily deduced their relationship by the simple fact that they were sitting together in Mycroft's car, and that they were sitting very close to one another. Also, there was the very damning hickey that Mycroft had on the left side of his neck that he was trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to cover with a hideous scarf. All of that was very easy, and very obvious, but even without it Sherlock would have known. Lestrade and Mycroft weren't exactly quiet when they were staying in Sherlock's hospital room.

“By the way, coma patients can hear everything going on around them.” He said with a knowing smile. Lestrade's face turned bright red and even Mycroft looked embarrassed.

“Oh my god. So wait, you two? Greg, really? I mean, that's brilliant, really. Cheers.” John said with a smile.

Sherlock looked over at him and John licked his lips and smiled, and then winked. John Watson winked at him. Sherlock realized that John was flirting with him a nanosecond before Mycroft did.

“Well, anyway. We won't keep you two from getting, er, settled in, I'm sure you have...things...to get to.” Mycroft said as the car pulled up in front of Baker St, insinuation practically pouring from his mouth. “You'll want to be briefed on the Morstan case of course. We can do that tomorrow. John, your things have been moved back in for you.”

“Did Mary get away?” Sherlock interrupted. As eager as he was to get home, he needed to know that much at least.

Mycroft shook his head. “She was captured trying to leave the country two days ago. We have her in custody and are currently working on finding out who has been helping her this entire time. We can discuss further tomorrow.”

John reached across the car and placed his hand on Mycroft's knee. “Thank you Mycroft. And Lestrade, thank you too. There's no reason for either of you to feel guilty. Lestrade, if you hadn't checked your phone we wouldn't be here right now. Thank you to both of you, for everything.”

“Yes, yes, they're both amazing and wonderful, thank you, et cetera, let's go John.” Sherlock said as he reached across John and pushed him out the door.

John laughed and shook his head and Sherlock couldn't help but notice how young he looked at that moment. Sherlock walked up to the entrance of Baker st and turned around. John stopped behind him and looked up, confused.

“It's great to finally have you back home, John.” Sherlock said with a smile.

“It's wonderful to finally be back.” John replied.

Sherlock turned back around and pushed open the door and walked in. As they climbed the stairs, Sherlock suddenly felt nervous. He wasn't sure what to say or how to act, which was a very new, and very frustrating feeling for him. John seemed to sense his worry and placed his hand on Sherlock's lower back as they walked into the flat. Sherlock turned around and they were face to face, merely inches apart. John smiled and Sherlock's heart started racing so fast he was certain that it would fly out of his chest.

“How about some tea?” John asked. Sherlock could only nod and blink.

John laughed and walked into the kitchen, mumbling something about 'that blinky thing' and 'bloody adorable'.

They settled in their respective chairs, hot tea in their hands, legs stretched out and feet tangled up in each other. Sherlock smiled at John and decided it was as good a time as any.

“So John, I know we had a bit of an interruption during dinner the other night. Or wait, that was a week ago wasn't it? Anyway, we were interrupted as you were realizing that I missed you terribly.” Sherlock began. He was trying to be playful, but missed the mark by miles when his voice broke at the end.

“Yes, I had figured that out. And then I was trying to figure out why, when you missed me, you felt the need to get yourself a boyfriend...” John replied, a playful smile on his lips.

Sherlock drained the rest of his tea and placed the cup on the floor. He leaned forward and placed one hand on each of John's knees. He could clearly see John's breathing speed up, pupils dilated, and his face started to flush.

“I think it's pretty obvious by now John. I can't believe I am going to say this, but I didn't see that you may have shared my feelings. I had focused on you denying that we were a couple so many times, it got stuck in my head. When I came back and you were engaged to Mary, I realized that I had lost my chance to be with you. John, you awoke something in me that I had managed to keep down for years, and I couldn't suppress it any longer. So I obtained a boyfriend who was able to satisfy my frustrating new need for companionship, not to mention for sexual release...” Sherlock stated.

John jumped up off the chair.

“Woah woah woah! Ok, please Sherlock, I don't want to hear about that. I don't need to know about your sexual...activities. Please.” John exclaimed.

Sherlock smiled as he remembered that John was the jealous type. Oh, he could have fun with this. He stood up and placed his hand on John's face, his thumb stroking his stubbly jawline. Sherlock was suddenly seized with the feeling that he desperately needed to know what that jawline tasted like.

“Forgive me John. Please know that anything, and anyone, in my past has, and always will, pale in comparison to you. You are my sun, my conductor of light, you are everything. I love you.” Sherlock said.

John's mouth opened slightly and he started at Sherlock with that look that he always gave him when he made a particularly impressive deduction.

“Sherlock Holmes as I live and breathe, you are a bloody romantic. I love you too.” John replied.

Sherlock smiled and leaned down as John tilted his head up and their lips met. It was indescribable, like his very first hit of heroin, the first case he successfully solved, the day John walked into that room at Barts and filled it, and Sherlock's life, entirely. The feeling of John's lips against his eclipsed everything that Sherlock had ever experienced that he thought was amazing. The walls of his mind palace were being knocked down and rebuilt, a monument to that moment. Sherlock sighed and wrapped his left arm around John, his right hand still stroking that amazing jawline.

John brought his arms up and tangled one hand in Sherlock's hair, tugging gently. Sherlock gasped, and then moaned, the sound coming from deep in the back of his throat. He loved having his hair pulled. God only knew how John knew that, but Sherlock was very thankful for it. John smiled and pulled away, just slightly, from Sherlock. They were both gasping for breath, but Sherlock couldn't stand the idea of his mouth not touching some part, any part, of John. His jawline was the perfect place to start.

Sherlock descended, kissing and licking his way across John's stubbly jaw over to his ear. John tasted exactly like Sherlock expected. Like warm tea, mixed with a bit of sweat, and like home. He nibbled on John's ear lobe and lowered his hands so that both were resting on his lower back. John was still struggling to catch his breath as he tilted his head back, giving Sherlock better access. He kept his hands in Sherlock's hair and tugged again, a little harder this time. Sherlock bit down on John's neck at the same time and both men moaned.

“I think...I think we should take this to the bedroom, yeah?” John panted, tugging Sherlock in the general direction of the bedroom by his belt loops.

Sherlock was beyond words and just nodded, stumbling as he tried to move forward. He was completely overwhelmed. He had never felt this way before, no one had ever had this kind of impact on him. It was as if his entire body was at John's mercy. John smiled and stopped moving.

“Take a deep breath, love. We have all night. I intend to take my time with you, I have been waiting for years for this moment and I'm not going to rush it.” John whispered as he tilted his head up and kissed Sherlock, softly than before, reverently. Sherlock whimpered as he felt John's tongue sweep its way across his lower lip. “Shhh, I've got you sweetheart. Come on now, let me take you to bed.”

Sherlock considered himself to be a realistic man. He knew that the odds were that he would not live an exceptionally long live. Hell, considering the fact that he nearly got killed on a weekly basis he knew that he would be lucky to see 40. That being said, he promised himself right then that whether he lived one more day or 30 more years, he would never, ever, admit to anyone that on that day, right in the middle of the sitting room, Sherlock Holmes swooned.

His knees buckled just a bit, and he was quick to catch himself, but not before John noticed. He chuckled under his breath and led Sherlock back to his bedroom. Once inside, John closed the door gently and turned to look at Sherlock. His eyes were burning, the brightest blue that Sherlock had ever seen, and they were sweeping over Sherlock's body greedily. John licked his lips and walked toward Sherlock, who stood like a deer in the headlights, unable to move or think.

John reached up and slowly unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, pressing a soft kiss to each patch of skin as it was exposed. Sherlock realized that John was also whispering as he was working to undress him, and he forced himself to calm his breathing and listen.

“...want to kiss every inch of you...so amazing...brilliant...gorgeous and perfect and mine...I can't believe...” John murmured as he worked his way though of the buttons. When he reached the last one, he straightened himself back up and kissed Sherlock's open mouth. He ran his hands up Sherlock's stomach, over his chest, and to his shoulders, where he then pushed the shirt off of him. John's warm, callused hands roamed greedily over Sherlock's exposed skin. The feeling was electric, and Sherlock realized that he could easily become addicted to it.

John's hands stopped moving and Sherlock looked down to see that he was staring at the scar that mary's bullet left on his chest.

“Don't, John. It's one of many that I have, please don't let it...” Sherlock wasn't able to finish because John attacked his mouth, kissing him forcefully.

Sherlock gave it right back, pouring years of longing and heartache into it. Sherlock pulled back and looked at John. He looked wild, his hair standing up from where Sherlock had run his hands through it, his lips swollen and red from kissing, and he was breathing hard, chest heaving with every breath. It was the sexiest thing that Sherlock had ever seen.

“You. Are. Mine. Whatever happened, whatever will happen, you are mine Sherlock, and I will never let you get hurt again.” John panted, his hands still on Sherlock's chest.

“Yes. God yes, yours John. Always.” Sherlock replied.

John groaned and pushed Sherlock back until he fell on the bed. Ah, Sherlock thought. Jealous, a little possessive, and dominant in the bedroom. Sherlock wasn't a religious man, but right then he was thanking every deity known to man for bestowing upon him John H. Watson.

John stood above Sherlock, still fully clothed. He leaned down and started to undo Sherlock's belt. Sherlock pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could watch John at work. And oh, was he efficient. He quickly divested Sherlock of his belt, removed his trousers in one smooth swoop, and then dropped to his knees. Sherlock's eyes widened and his breath picked up as he realized what was about to happen. He instinctively spread his legs and inched forward, until he was almost completely hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Eager little thing, aren't you?” John said with a smile.

He leaned forward and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on Sherlock's pants over his painfully hard cock. Sherlock moaned thrust his hips up, desperate for more contact. John gripped his hips and pushed him back into the bed. He placed more gentle kisses along the length of Sherlock, then down to his thighs, kissing and biting and sucking marks into the pale white skin as he went, all the while holding Sherlock's hips down with such force that he was certain he would have little finger shaped bruises in the morning. That thought sent another rush of blood to his cock and Sherlock cried out.

“Please! John, please, my god.” Sherlock groaned.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was asking for, but he would take anything that John would give him. John brought his head up from between Sherlock's legs and smiled. He trailed his hands slowly down from their spot on Sherlock's hips until they reached his pants. John hooked his fingers under the elastic and tugged them down, freeing Sherlock's cock and relieving some of the pressure. John stood up and looked down at Sherlock.

“Amazing. You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen, love.” He said, reverently.

Sherlock looked down at himself. He felt like a mess, his hair was sticking to his head and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His chest, neck, and face were flushed and red, and his cock was dark red and leaking all over his stomach. He had never leaked like that before, but then again he had never been that turned on before.

“So beautiful, I can't believe you're mine, finally.” John said, almost to himself.

“I am John, I'm yours.” Sherlock replied, chest heaving and fists clenched in the sheets. “Now please, do something, anything, I need you.”

“With pleasure.” John stripped off his clothes in record time, barely giving Sherlock a chance to see him. He was desperate to map every inch of John's compact body, with his eyes, hands, and mouth. “Another time,” John said, reading Sherlock's mind. “I don't think either of us have the patience for that tonight.”

John crawled on the bed next to Sherlock and sat with his legs folded under him. He ran his eyes over Sherlock's body again, apparently deciding exactly what he wanted to do.

“Turn over, on your hands and knees. There you go, just like that.” John commanded, and Sherlock was quick to comply.

John leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's ass, spreading the cheeks apart gently. Sherlock was terrified his legs would give out before he could properly enjoy this. He gulped in several breaths and tried desperately to get control of himself.

“It's ok love, I've got you.” John murmured before he leaned forward and licked a long stripe from the cleft of Sherlock's ass down to his balls. Sherlock cried out and pushed himself back, unable to control himself. John chuckled and held Sherlock in place. He licked again, then placed his tongue firmly on Sherlock's entrance. He went to work, alternating between lapping at his hole and forcing his tongue inside, slowly working it in and out. Sherlock was quickly coming apart beneath him, crying out John's name and moaning uncontrollably. Sherlock realized he was close, too close, and reluctantly leaned forward, away from John's amazing mouth.

“John...” he panted, struggling to get more than a word out. “I am so close, please, I need you inside me.”

“Oh my god, can you come just from that?” John asked in wonder.

“Yes, and I'm about to, so you need to stop.” Sherlock replied, and cursed the fact that his voice cracked several times during the short sentence.

“Incredible. You amazing, unreal creature. I can't wait to make you come from that. I wonder how many ways I can make you come without touching your cock.” John wondered.

“You're going to be the death of me.” Sherlock cried pitifully, his face buried in his arm as he tried to calm himself down to last long enough not to be completely humiliated.

“Ditto. Now where's your lube?” John asked as he climbed off the bed. “Oh, never mind, found it. Condoms too, great.”

John climbed back on the bed and Sherlock heard the cap to the bottle of lube click open. His mouth watered in anticipation. Wow, he thought, Pavlovian response to lube. Interesting. I'll need to exi-

His brain shut down completely as John's finger slowly breached his body. His skilled, doctors hand had no trouble carefully working his finger in and out slowly. Sherlock noted that John was avoiding his prostate, likely aware that he would probably come immediately if he made contact. John squirted more lube on his fingers and slipped a second one in, working his way in and out slowly, scissoring and twisting them. Sherlock felt like he was floating, all he felt was pure pleasure coursing through his veins.

“John please, another.” he gasped out.

John happily obliged and slipped another finger in. Sherlock cried out and pushed back, inadvertently forcing John's forth finger in as well. John stopped moving, but Sherlock wasn't going to tolerate that. He moaned, low and deep, and pushed back, fucking himself slowly. John groaned and started moving his hand again, slowly at first, and then faster, until Sherlock could only sit there and cry out as he took it.

“Ok love, I'm going to stop now, I need to be inside you. Is that ok?” John asked. Sherlock nodded, the ability to speak long gone.

John's fingers slipped wetly out of Sherlock and he whimpered at the loss. John chuckled as he opened the condom wrapper and slipped it on. Sherlock heard the lube bottle open again, and then John was right against him, the tip of his cock pressing against Sherlock's stretched hole. Sherlock pushed back, and John got the hint. He pushed in slowly and both men moaned at the same time. John continued forward, it stung a bit and Sherlock realized that John was bigger than even his (admittedly generous) fantasies had allowed. Not painfully big, but large enough that Sherlock would feel it in the morning, and probably the next morning too. He moaned again at that thought and pushed back as John pushed forward, continuing until he was fully seated inside.

“Ok?” John asked. He leaned forward and peppered kisses down Sherlock's spine.

“Yes, John you feel amazing, it's incrediable. I need you to move, please.” Sherlock replied.

John obliged, pulled out slowly until he was almost completely out of Sherlock, and then pushed back in. He continued this slow back and forth, bringing Sherlock to the brink of orgasm again and again, but holding off at just the right moment. If his brain had been functioning properly, Sherlock would have been impressed. In actuality, he was a sobbing mess, crying out John's name interspersed with pleas for him to move faster and harder. John was a patient man though, and continued his slow and steady assault. Finally Sherlock had enough. He pulled forward until John slipped out of him and spun around.

“Sherlock, what-” John started.

“You are unbelievable John. I have spent years fantasizing about tonight, and nothing has come even close to this. I love you and what you're doing to me, but right now I need to be fucked, hard.” Sherlock replied. He pushed John down onto his back and climbed on top of him. Sherlock gripped John's cock and slowly lowered himself onto it. There was no slow build up, Sherlock was not a patient man, not in life, and most definitely not in the bedroom. He thrust his hips forward, fucking himself fast and hard on John's cock.

“Put your knees up, put your feet on flat on the bed.” Sherlock panted. John did so, and Sherlock leaned back until he was resting against John's legs as he rode him. The angle allowed John's cock to rub against Sherlock's prostate with every thrust and in seconds Sherlock was coming, his head thrown back and his hands gripping John's thighs.

His eyes screwed shut so hard that he saw white as he came, his orgasm taking him by surprise and bursting out of him. Sherlock was vaguely aware that he was making quite a lot of noise but he couldn't possible care less. He continued to fuck himself on John's cock as he came, riding it out until he could no longer move. Sherlock realized that he had stopped breathing and gasped for air. He looked down at John and smiled at what he saw. John looked as thoroughly debauched as was humanly possible. His hair was a disaster, face bright red, chest heaving, mouth hanging open, and he was covered, literally covered, in Sherlock's come. It was all over his stomach, chest, neck, and a bit on his face. Sherlock leaned down and licked, starting just under John's left nipple and worked his way around his chest and neck, cleaning him off as best he could. John groaned and grabbed Sherlock's hips, holding him in place, and thrust forward, once, twice, and one last time before he stiffened and came with a shout.

“Oh fuck...Sherlock...god...oh god...oh fuck...Sherlock...” John chanted.

Sherlock smiled and continued to lick his chest until John relaxed and flopped his arms and legs back down on the bed. Sherlock carefully lifted himself off John and laid next to him.

“That was...” Sherlock said.

“I know.” John replied.

Sherlock tugged the comforter from underneath them and wrapped it around them. He kissed John on the cheek, whispered “I love you”, and they both drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think so far!


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